We'll Start With The Riding Crop
by Loki's-Phantom-x
Summary: Sherlock introduces Lestrade to his riding crop. Smut, swearing, light bondage. Sherlock/Lestrade, PWP. R&R, x


**We'll Start with the Riding Crop**

**Summary**: Sherlock introduces Lestrade to his riding crop. Smut, swearing, light bondage. Apologies if any OOCness :)

**A/N**: Basically a short PWP, I have no shame XD

**-x-**

_You know where to find me.  
-SH._

Detective Inspector Lestrade would receive the same message from Sherlock Holmes whenever he was bored. Lestrade had figured it out. It used to be more about solving the cases, but when Sherlock knew Lestrade would come running when he got the text message, he would take advantage. Lestrade had answered that very text a mere half an hour ago, and was currently half naked, and tied to Sherlock's bed, using a scarf that belonged to Sherlock himself. His cock, hard and leaking, strained against the material of his boxer shorts, which is all Sherlock left him in before he went searching for something in the wardrobe.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock didn't answer him, but continued to rummage through the wardrobe before loudly announcing 'AHA'. "Sherlock?" The consulting detective turned to the detective inspector, a long object in his hand; a long, leather object. Lestrade gulped visibly when he saw it was a riding crop. "Oh, _God_."

"Call me God if you like, Inspector. I don't mind," Sherlock said, amused. He walked over to the bed, his eyes on Lestrade's all the time. He moved to unbutton his own trousers, letting them fall to the floor, his boxers gone with them, leaving him naked and wanting before Lestrade.

"God, Sherlock, let me touch you ..." he begged, but was rewarded with a sharp slap with the riding crop across his thigh. He winced and moaned at the same time, noting the smirk on Sherlock's face, the bastard that he was. Sherlock climbed onto the bed, straddling the inspector's lap. He hooked his fingers into the other man's boxer shorts, before pulling them down his legs, letting Lestrade's straining cock free from its confines.

"Sherlock, if you don't do something ..." Lestrade began before he was rolled over onto his stomach and Sherlock had shimmied back, now straddling the inspector's calves, giving him a very good view of Lestrade's bare backside. He leant down, his moist lips touching the soft skin of Lestrade's buttocks, peppering kisses over them before kissing up his back. Lestrade just moaned into the pillow, breathing out the consulting detective's name. Sherlock sat back on his heels once more .

"Are you ready, inspector?"

"Oh god, yes." Sherlock smiled and lifted the arm with the riding crop above his head, before bringing it down sharply on Lestrade's buttocks, making the other man call out obscenities and moan deeply. "More," he moaned. Sherlock was only more than happy to oblige. He brought the riding crop down again and again, the sharp slap of leather against skin echoing around the room and Lestrade's whimpers of pain and pleasure rolled into one. Sherlock watched as the skin began to redden from the strikes, and stopped for a moment to run a soothing hand over the burning skin.

"You like that don't you?" he asked, and Lestrade said something that sounded like 'oh fuck yes' into his pillow. Sherlock smirked and brought the riding crop down again, this time onto the cheek that hadn't been struck before. Lestrade cried out louder as the untouched flesh burned under the leather. His moans of 'Sherlock' turned to whimpers of want and need.

"Please ..." he moaned. Sherlock stopped striking him.

"Please what, detective inspector?"

"Please fuck me ..."

That was all Sherlock needed to hear before throwing the riding crop across the room, and turning the other man onto his back again, his eyes wide and his breathing irregular. Sherlock quickly moved to untie Lestrade's hands, but grabbed them as they were released, pressing them down into the pillow.

"Stay."

Sherlock brought his own hand to his mouth, slicking his hand with saliva as he was too impatient to search for anything else. He wrapped his hand around the inspector's weeping erection and he slid his hand up and down a few times, spreading the saliva. Lestrade's eyes were sealed closed, and his mouth hanging open at Sherlock's touch. Sherlock lined up Lestrade's erection with his entrance, before quickly, and painfully, impaling himself on the inspector's cock, moaning out in pain as he did so.

"Oh fuck, Sherlock ..." Lestrade moaned, his hand moving from the pillow to the detective's hips. Sherlock shimmied his hips a little to get used to the feeling of the other man inside him. He could feel the sweat dripping down the sides of his face, his chest, down his back. The two men stayed still and silent for a moment. Sherlock pushed his hair back out of his face, the sweat making it stay in place out of his eyes, before he began moving slowly. Lestrade let out a strangles moan as Sherlock took him in deeper with one little movement. Sherlock placed his hands flat on Lestrade's chest before he moved again, using it as leverage. He began to pick up the pace, lifting his hips and sinking back down, again and again and again, until Lestrade began to move underneath him, bucking up to meet the thrusts. Sherlock grabbed Lestrade by the shoulders and pulled him up into a sitting position, his fingers moving through the other man's silver hair, before pressing a deep kiss to his lips. Tongues, teeth and lips merged together as they kissed, hands grabbing at skin and hair, 'harder' and 'faster' spoken more often than not. Lestrade took the chance to flip them as they kissed, grabbing Sherlock and turning them over so he was on top, taking the chance to take charge. He moved inside the detective, their lips still attached.

"Oh ..." Sherlock moaned, eventually. Lestrade was beginning to think he's gone mute. Then he said the most unexpected thing. "The coffee shop assistant with the meat cleaver." Lestrade came to a halt, his breathing laboured.

"What?"

"That's who killed your victim yesterday. Scars on his palms from inexperience with sharp objects, cut himself. You'll find chalk under his fingernails from the message he left on the wooden floor, and you'll find ..."

"Sherlock, I am in the middle of _fucking_ you, and you want to talk about the case ..." Lestrade said, dumbfounded.

"But I just solved your case, Inspector. We know who your killer is," Sherlock said, looking rather smug and pleased with himself. "Now, carry on." Sherlock grabbed the inspector and kissed him deeply, bucking his hips up to make Lestrade move again_. Typical Sherlock Holmes_, Lestrade thought to himself. He began pounding hard into the consulting detective, who had begun to get louder in his moaning. Lestrade felt Sherlock wrap his long legs around his waist as he fucked him into the mattress.

"Oh God, Sherlock ..." he said, as he got faster and faster, a tightening in his stomach as he neared the inevitable. Sherlock took hold of his own cock and stroked himself in time with Lestrade's thrusts. Soon both men were moaning, writhing messes as they both reached orgasm, crying out, and collapsing against each other as they came down from their high.

"I can't believe you just solved a case in the _middle_ of sex," Lestrade said, from next to Sherlock. Sherlock shrugged.

"That's nothing. I can say the Greek alphabet fluently backwards whilst giving a blowjob," Sherlock said.

"Really?"

"You are so gullible."

* * *

_Just a short thing. Hope you liked it. XD_


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